


Si je vous disais...

by LittleLinor



Category: Spiral: Suiri no Kizuna
Genre: Happy Ending AU, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: Kanone is used to waking up at night





	Si je vous disais...

**Author's Note:**

> (reposted from tumblr)

There are nights where he still wakes up with fire in his mind and the blood rush of fighting in his veins.

He is used to it, by now, in the only way you can get used to being thrown back into battle and despair: not in any mild, comforting, neutralising way, but with the “oh” of consciousness reasserting itself and the violent wave of blank apathy that washes over him to stop him from reacting until he can control his senses and movements again.

He will never get used to it, not quite, but he is used to it happening.

Eyes wakes up, most of the time, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because there is nothing and no one better than Eyes at reaching into him and calming him down, and as vulnerable as that makes him he is thankful for it (and it’s Eyes. He doesn’t care). And a curse, because having a witness makes it real. When alone he can lock it back down, dismiss it. It never happened. He is perfectly healthy, and happy, and there is no reason for Eyes to take care of him like this, to treat him almost like a victim instead of a criminal. But Eyes, when he does wake up, sees, and refuses to dismiss it, and soothes him back into feeling almost human again (although not always in the most soothing way).

But Eyes didn’t wake up this time–he’s getting better at not moving and not tensing and just letting his body go blank–so it’s up to him to remind himself that it isn’t his reality anymore. That he’s (mostly) human now, with no fresh blood on his hands and no reason to self-destruct.

(He isn’t sure he would care, but Eyes wants him alive, Eyes wants him there, and that’s reason enough to make himself care.)

So to remind himself, he moves a little closer again, combs a few strands of pale hair away from his neck and nape, rests his face in the warmth he finds there. He’s learned all of his rhythms by heart by now: his heartbeat, its tempo in sleep, in waking rest, undone by heat, his breath, the movements and patterns his muscles make. And he has two right under his lips, right now, the slow and deep draw of his breath and the low pulsing of blood right under his skin, whispering a heady mantra of  _alive, alive, alive_.

And ah, he must have pressed too close, too hard, because his heartbeat is speeding up, just a bit, no panic in it but still shedding the heavy slowness of sleep. His breath is still even, but a hand reaches back to catch Kanone’s own, laces fingers and brings it forward, arm curled around Eyes’s waist, weaved fingers resting against his chest.

Kanone hides in his neck further, almost ashamed but still thankful for the lurch in his chest and the way things in his head and body jerk back into place. If a couple of tears break from the shock of reality reasserting itself, neither of them mentions it.

“Nightmare?” Eyes asks him, thumb rubbing the back of his hand.

“Yeah.”

“Want me at your back instead?”

“No.” There is comfort in that, yes, but right now what he needs is the beat of Eyes’s heart against his face and his smell anchoring him. “Just like this is fine.”

Eyes doesn’t answer. But under Kanone’s lips a hummed song rises, a tune that sings not of solitude, but of the marvels, follies and comforts of love.


End file.
